unt on a Frenchman's honesty," Stuyvesant observed.
"But do you make the deliveries ex-store tally with what went in?"

"I don't," said Bethune dryly. "Here's the balance I struck. It shows the
storekeeper is a good many bags short."

He passed the paper across, and Dick examined it with surprise.

"You have worked this out already from the muddled and blotted entries!
Do you think you've got it right?"

"I'm sure," said Bethune, smiling. "I'll prove it if you like. We know
how much cement went into stock. How many molded blocks of the top course
have we put down at the dam?"

Dick told him, and after a few minutes' calculation Bethune looked up.
"Then here you are! Our concrete's a standard density; we know the weight
of water and sand and what to allow for evaporation. You see my figures
agree very closely with the total delivery ex-store."

They did so, and Dick no longer wondered how Bethune, who ostentatiously
declined to let his work interfere with his comfort, held his post. The
man thought in numbers, using the figures, as one used words, to express
his knowledge rather than as a means of obtaining it by calculation. Dick
imagined this was genius.

"Well," said Stuyvesant, "I guess we had better send for the storekeeper
next."

"Get it over," agreed Bethune. "It's an unpleasant job."

Dick sent a half-naked peon to look for the man, and was sensible of some
nervous strain as he waited for his return. He hated the task he had
undertaken, but it must be carried out. Bethune, who had at first tried
to discourage him, now looked interested, and Dick saw that Stuyvesant
was resolute. In the meanwhile, the shed had grown suffocatingly hot, his
face and hands were wet with perspiration, and the rumble of machinery
made his head ache. He lighted a cigarette, but the tobacco tasted bitter
and he threw it away. Then there were footsteps outside and Stuyvesant
turned to him.

"We leave you to put the thing through. You're prosecutor."

Dick braced himself as a man came in and stood by the table, looking at
the others suspiciously. He was an American, but his face was heavy and
rather sullen, and his white clothes were smeared with dust.

"We have been examining your stock-book," said Dick. "It's badly kept."

The fellow gave him a quick glance. "Mr. Fuller knows I'm not smart at
figuring, and if you want the books neat, you'll have to get me a better
clerk. Anyhow, I've my own tally and allow I can tell you w